


hang the treasure; it's the glory of the hunt

by Jedi Buttercup (jedibuttercup)



Category: Jurassic World Trilogy (Movies), National Treasure (Movies)
Genre: Banter, Crossover, F/M, Treasure Hunting, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-07
Updated: 2016-10-07
Packaged: 2018-08-18 17:04:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8169356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jedibuttercup/pseuds/Jedi%20Buttercup
Summary: Abigail Chase and Ben Gates take a romantic vacation... to Treasure Island.  Which, it turns out, may be the island on which John Hammond constructed a certain theme park....





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ishie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ishie/gifts).



> Title is a modified quote from "Treasure Island". Set post-Book of Secrets and pre-Jurassic World, to line up the timelines. The historical information is mostly accurate; the real-world Isla del Coco is believed to be the inspiration for the Treasure Island book, and it just so happens that the fictional Las Cinco Muertes are mapped as being in roughly the same location. :)

"Oh, my God. Ben, you _didn't_ ," Abigail said, stopping short as they approached the pier her fellow treasure hunter, dedicated historian, and fiancé had been leading her toward. Even if the double-decker, twin hulled white ferry hadn't been instantly recognizable in and of itself, the distinctive logo plastered all around the departure area in both English and Spanish would have been impossible to overlook.

"Didn't what?" Ben replied in innocent tones, though the twinkle in his eye over the rim of his sunglasses and the sly tug at the corner of his smile said differently.

"You said we were chartering a boat to see the Isla del Coco!" she complained, reaching out to jab a finger at the center of his chest.

"...No, I'm pretty sure I said we would take a boat to find the Treasure of Lima, which was historically _rumored_ to have been buried on Cocos Island," he drawled, still smirking at her.

"That is _not_ where that ferry goes," Abigail pointed out, gesturing toward the blue lettering and fossil skull that made up the universally recognizable Jurassic World logo.

Undeterred by her objection, Ben's grin widened, enthusiasm lighting him up from within. There was nothing in the world like Benjamin Franklin Gates in the grip of a revelation – though he apparently still hadn't quite got over the habit of making plans and decisions without bothering to check with her first.

"Exactly," he said, taking his sunglasses off and tucking them away as he warmed to the subject. "The problem with Cocos Island is that not only have droves of treasure hunters visited it over the years and found no hint of the wealth that was supposedly hidden there in 1820, never mind any of the other treasures supposedly buried there over the years, we have only the word of a pair of convicted pirates that it was ever buried there in the first place. British Captain William Thompson and his crew were entrusted with the treasure by José de la Serna, the Spanish viceroy of Peru at the time, to keep it out of Argentine hands – but once it was aboard, they killed the Viceroy's men and sailed to _an_ island off the coast of Costa Rica. The only reason it's believed to have been _that_ particular island is that Thompson and his first mate told the Spaniards to look there when the rest of the crew was executed for treason. But the Spaniards found no trace of it – and the pair escaped into the forest immediately after the ship arrived. Only a few scattered gold coins have ever been found there since."

"...So, you think the treasure was actually buried on another island, and Thompson lied about the location?" Abigail replied, lifting her eyebrows as she picked through the explanation.

Well... this _was_ supposed to be a _romantic_ working vacation, a less fraught echo of the pair of adventures that had tied them together in the first place. She might just have to give him a pass for the mild deception about their destination... _if_ he explained himself to her satisfaction.

Ben paused before answering, however, drawing his brows together as if in the middle of trying to figure out another clue. Except that it was her face he was staring at, not an ancient map or cipher. 

"Well?" she prompted him, poking him in the chest again. "I think I have a right to know, considering that you're dragging me to the most popular theme park in the world, and you _know_ how I feel about that kind of consumer-oriented tourism."

Ben shook off the speculative look with another sheepish grin. "Sorry; it's just that you said 'so' again, and I was trying to figure out if this is one of the times it means you're angry."

Abigail rolled her eyes in affectionate exasperation. A degree in history, another in Mechanical Engineering, Naval ROTC training, and two major discoveries behind him, and Ben Gates sometimes _still_ had trouble seeing what was right in front of him. "I might be, if you don't finish that explanation," she replied.

"Well, we wouldn't want that," he said dryly, then cleared his throat and continued. 

"The thing is, Las Cinco Muertes – the island chain where the park is located, whose name translates somewhat ominously to 'The Five Deaths' – isn't actually all that far from the so-called Treasure Island. In fact, there was some concern after the failure of the original Jurassic Park that some of the animals that escaped containment might have made their way there; but the Costa Rican park rangers that live on Isla del Coco aren't saying one way or the other, and there's been speculation that they actually spread the rumors themselves to discourage poachers and other trespassers. Regardless – it's not out of the question that Thompson's ship, the _Mary Dear_ , put in at one of those islands instead when he hid the Viceroy's treasure. And the most attractive option for a sailing vessel in the days before GPS would have been the one with an obvious source of fresh water–"

"The waterfall on Isla Nublar," Abigail nodded slowly, following his logic. "It's visible for miles. There must be something more to the mystery, though, if we're actually here; what other clue did you find? And how do you explain the fact that tens of thousands of people have visited the island every day for _years_ and yet no one has ever stumbled over the treasure?"

"That's just the thing; I'm pretty sure someone _did_ find it," he explained further, gesturing widely as he finally got to the meat of the tale. "When John Hammond passed away, the bulk of his business interests went to a colleague, Simon Masrani, and most of the official survey and construction documentation was locked away in the proprietary files of Jurassic World and/or the biotech firm that created the dinosaur attractions themselves, iNGen. But Hammond's personal effects, including his journals, went to his grandchildren, who later donated most of the documents to a museum. 

"Now, there's nothing in those documents directly pertaining to a treasure – that would be too easy – but there _is_ a curious reference to a utility outbuilding that had to be scrapped in the land-clearing stage and rebuilt elsewhere at considerable inconvenience. That's not much by itself, I know, but there's a note scribbled in the margin on that page that reads: 'Alas, I'll have to leave it to my grandchildren to succeed where Errol Flynn failed.'" The triumph in his voice was audible. 

Abigail _had_ done her research on the original Treasure Island when she'd thought that was their destination. "And of course, Flynn was one of the celebrities who looked for the treasure over the years. But why would Hammond have _wanted_ to leave it for future discovery...?" She cut herself off there, shaking her head as she answered her own question. "Because if the Costa Rican government had become aware of it, they would have stopped the construction of the park – his life's work."

Ben nodded. "He didn't care about the money; 'spare no expense', he's often quoted as saying. Maybe he figured it would be safe enough once the park had established itself beyond the government's ability to quietly shut it down, and he could make a grand gesture of establishing a museum on the island to display it. Who knows. But I tracked down a few of the early construction crew and one of the survivors of the disaster who visited the area, and used their information to triangulate the location of the abandoned construction site."

He pulled a park brochure out of his pocket, unfolding it and pointing at a spot near the island's north end... in the cross-hatched area marked as 'Restricted'. Of course.

"And how do you propose to get there?" she lifted her eyebrows at him. "The old park was fenced off and left to decay; even if you could get past the security and anything that might want to eat you, all of the landmarks will be overgrown by now."

"We'll think of something," he shrugged, carelessly. "And in the meantime... who knows, we might actually enjoy some of the park's _intended_ wonders along the way. Did you know, they still have the original Tyrannosaurus Rex on exhibit? I bet _she's_ seen a lot over the years."

Abigail heaved a theatrical sigh, then shook her head and turned back toward the pier, linking her elbow through his. Clearly, there was only one thing to be done. "All right. But I reserve the right to change my mind if you lose our toothbrushes."

"Heaven forfend," he chuckled at the reference to his parents' infamous argument about the reasons for their divorce. Then he clasped a hand over hers, and headed toward the ticket booth, whistling cheerily.

* * *

The ferry was remarkably crowded, even compared to the tourist throngs Abigail regularly encountered in Washington DC. But the sky was a deep blue marked by only a few traces of wispy cloud, the wind and spray kicked up from the waves were just enough to take the edge off the sticky tropical heat, and the sight of Isla Nublar as they approached was a vision worthy of a painting. The ferry deliberately steered past green-cloaked, forested heights and the breathtaking waterfall that cascaded nearly a hundred meters down to sea level before approaching the developed portion of the island. She might spend her days in a temple of architectural art dedicated to preserving magnificent works of aging parchment and faded ink, but she was perfectly capable of appreciating the natural world's beauties, as well.

Twenty minutes after leaving the mainland, they eased up to an expansive dock all scrubbed concrete, shiny railings, and colorful signage directing visitors toward the theme park. The last lingering few from the previous ferry's load were still streaming up wide steps toward the monorail line that led to most of the park's attractions; the ferry's crew worked with practiced speed to decant the newest group onto the piers, and Abigail latched onto Ben's hand as they were swept along with the crowd.

Unfortunately, her sense of bemused appreciation was not meant to last this time, either. Her gaze caught on a red-haired woman in a stylish pale pantsuit and sturdy-looking pumps, standing in the middle of the flow of tourists like a rock in a stream. She was watching every face as they streamed by, searching casually for one – or perhaps two – particular visitors. Abigail took in the expression on the woman's face, then the hand-written sign in her arms, and found herself repeating a familiar refrain.

"Ben, you didn't," she hissed, nudging her fiancé with an elbow.

He actually tried to brazen that one out, though she'd caught the slight widening of his eyes when he noticed the woman, too. "Didn't what, darling?"

"Paul Brown? You seriously bought our tickets under the name _Paul Brown_?"

"What's wrong with Paul Brown?" he objected, lightly. More sensibly, he angled his body toward her and guided them both off to one side of the crowd at the same time, putting a few more tourists between them and the person that Abigail was 90% sure was Claire Dearing in the flesh. "I thought it would be, you know, a nostalgic gesture. The name I was using when I met you, remember?"

"You mean, when you snuck into a private party at the National Archives and _stole the Declaration of Independence_ ," Abigail reminded him pointedly. "The FBI may have cleared your name in the end, but if you were trying to sneak into Jurassic World without the authorities realizing you were coming? It might have been better to use an alias that they _didn't have on record._ " 

How could Ben overlook that? Claire Dearing, the _operations manager_ of Jurassic World, responsible on a minute-to-minute basis for twenty thousand people on an _average_ day, would only have come down to the docks to intercept 'Paul Brown' if she knew _exactly_ who he was.

"Hey, give me a _little_ credit," he replied, giving her a wounded look that actually seemed to be genuine. "I got Riley to go in and clean all that up _months_ ago. I agree, it seems a little fishy that she's flagged the name anyway, but it can't be because of the connection to _me_. Maybe it's some kind of prank? I mean, I haven't even _used_ that name since…"

He paused there with a perplexed expression, then sidled further to the side of the now rapidly thinning crowd, into the shade cast by one of the bannerlike signs. "Well, I guess… I wouldn't have thought _she'd_ have talked to anyone in the current administration, but I suppose it's possible...."

Abigail sighed. " _Who_ , Ben?"

"Well, Dr. Sattler. The paleobotanist from the original assessment group; she was the only one I could track down who'd talk to me. I forgot I'd used the Paul Brown name with her; I didn't want my fame coloring her answers, and it was the first alias that came to mind."

"And _did_ she answer you?"

"Well, not much more than she'd already told the press, but...."

Abigail reached up and patted his cheek. So brilliant with puzzles; so often blind when it came to people. She'd learned to love his weak points as well as all the rest of him, but that didn't erase them. "Women warn each other, _darling_ ; especially when they already have reasons to be in contact. Part of the public relations campaign when they opened the new park was addressing the original survivors' objections, remember? I'd be surprised if Masrani's people aren't still in regular communication with Dr. Sattler to make sure that none of the unfamiliar plant species they come across are revived poisonous species."

"…Oh," Ben said, then winced. "You're right. I _am_ an idiot."

The corners of Abigail's mouth turned up – but before she could reply, or even celebrate that minor victory, a very dry voice sounded from the other sign of the banner. 

"If it's that easy to get you to accept your limitations, then maybe we won't have a problem after all," Claire Dearing broke into the conversation crisply. She strode around the sign, assurance in every line of her bearing, surprisingly quiet in her heels – then stiffened as she got a good look at their faces. "Or… perhaps I'll just call security right now and have you escorted on the next ferry back to the mainland, _Mr. Gates_. Dr. Chase."

Her nod to Abigail was cool, but professional by contrast with the remote disdain she directed at Ben. "We normally give known treasure hunters the VIP tour and send them away again satisfied with the experience, if not the state of their pocketbooks, but I know enough of your history not to trust that you'd stay within the bounds you were given."

"And you'd be right not to," Ben replied, instantly shifting gears. He turned his full attention on the other woman, earnest conviction in every line of his bearing. "Because if I could make the connection to this place from John Hammond's journals, given only the sketchiest of background knowledge about the disposition of Cocos Island in relation to Las Cinco Muertes and the history of the various Treasure Island expeditions, then I'll sure as hell not be the last. Wouldn't you rather just deal with the one of me – with as many security guys following me as you like – rather than less scrupulous hunters who might not care about the civilians and the exhibits, or turning the treasure over to the proper authorities? My reputation should at least tell you _that_ much."

Ms. Dearing balled up the sign she'd been holding and tossed it into the nearest trash can, then crossed her arms over her chest. "Even _if_ you were telling Dr. Sattler the truth about the likelihood of the Treasure of Lima being buried on Isla Nublar, how does that give me incentive _not_ to interfere?"

"Well, I _had_ intended to do this quietly," Ben replied, "hence the alias and the low-key approach, but if you'd really prefer I come back with a brass band and all the weight of my public persona behind me...."

Ms. Dearing's frown deepened. "This _is_ a major theme park, Mr. Gates; we're open three hundred sixty-five days a year, and there's no part of the park that's ever free of guests or staff. If you think trying a little heavy-handed manipulation will make Mr. Masrani more likely to let _anyone_ dig up Main Street or deface a popular exhibit, then I'm afraid it doesn't matter _how_ loudly you toot your own horn; it isn't going to happen."

Abigail placed a cautioning hand on Ben's arm. "The last thing we want is to blackmail anyone; we don't even believe the treasure is within the current boundaries of the park. It shouldn't affect your guests at all, and even with the loan of a few security, the impact on your staff should be minimal."

Ms. Dearing's eyebrows lifted at that as she pretended to reassess them. "Wait, you were planning on sneaking into the Restricted Zone, just the two of you? Maybe I _should_ let you try it. We rounded up all of the surviving dinosaurs from the old park, but we never _did_ have a full count of their offspring, you know."

"Touché," Ben acknowledged the parrying tactic. "Look. It really shouldn't take long to assess whether I've accurately deciphered the clue; and I'll let you handle the press announcement, provided we get credit for the discovery. I won't even object if you want to make the treasure the centerpiece of a new exhibit rather than turning it all over; I'm sure the Costa Rican authorities would agree to a deal that would profit all parties concerned if it's presented just right."

"Then why go to so much trouble?" Ms. Dearing replied, still skeptical. "This isn't the United States; regardless of whether your name makes the history books again, I hope you're not holding out for another big finder's fee."

"That's giving him too much credit," Abigail shook her head. "It's the classic explorer's answer, I'm afraid; _because it's there_ , and _because he can_."

Ms. Dearing narrowed her eyes at that comment, then gave a huff and produced a smart phone from her pocket. "I really _can't_ spare any of our response teams just now. But, as you just reminded me, one of our trainers and his team _are_ still sitting around waiting for their animals to hatch. So...."

Ben and Abigail exchanged a glance as the person on the other end of the line picked up, and Ms. Dearing lifted the phone to her ear, her tone sharp. "Mr. Grady, if you could spare a moment...."

"So much for the romantic dig for two," Abigail teased him in a low voice.

"Does that change your mind?" he replied, eyeing her warily. "We _could_ still turn around and make other plans."

"Note I said the classic _explorer's_ answer; gender unspecified," Abigail snorted. "You think I don't want to find the treasure as much as you do, now?"

Ben's smile widened, and he bent to press a kiss to her mouth. "You're _amazing_ , you know that?"

"I do," Abigail replied smugly, grinning up at him. Passion – for discovery, among other things – was the one thing they'd shared since the very beginning.

A moment later, Ms. Dearing cleared her throat. "Here's the deal. I'll give you directions to Mr. Grady's trailer. He and his team will be equipped with cameras at all times. If you go somewhere you haven't cleared with me, the deal's off; if you lose the team for _any_ reason, the deal's off; and if you don't find it within the time limit of your original passes, again, the deal's off. Do you understand and agree to these terms?"

"Perfectly," Ben replied. "I promise you won't regret this."

"We'll see about that," Ms. Dearing sniffed. Then she clicked her fingers together and turned toward the park, stalking smoothly up the steps ahead of them.

"Yes, we'll see about that," Abigail added wryly. Then she linked her hand in his again, and followed.

This adventure might not be what she'd been expecting – but what ever was, with Ben? And yet, somehow – like always – she was sure it would be worth the experience.


End file.
